The Path We Take (Young Love Book 2)

by Kylie Key

  "Um, were you close with your Grandma?" I asked.

  "I lived with them, my grandparents," he said, “well, I still live with my Grandpa. Or did. Before the accident."

  "Oh, I'm sorry about your Grandma," I said, but somehow nothing made sense. It all seemed to be a contradiction, a tough tattooed boy raised by his grandparents. Where were his parents? "Not here in LA?" I remembered how Cassian had said the accident had been north and that Spider had no family close by.

  "Up in Castlemain."

  "That's where you live?" I didn't think I'd ever been there, maybe driven through it on the way up state. Spider nodded. "You must miss home," I said.

  He didn't say anything, but I detected a slight wobble of his chin. Spontaneously, I moved forward to take his hand but he reached further, to my arm. I let him hold it, his skin warm, his fingers wrapping around my bone, clutching at it, and he closed his eyes and started to cry. And I supposed it wasn't the tears of pain from having your skin seared and charred; it was tears of being all alone, far from home and not having your family with you.

  I slipped away from the hospital when I was certain Spider was fast asleep and I drove around to Selina's house. She'd been texting me for hours that I should go and check out some new clothes she'd bought. She was going on a cruise and wanted an opinion on each outfit. I didn’t think my opinion really mattered, but I'd give it anyway and reassure her that every choice was brilliant.

  That's what I told Mom and Dad when I arrived home - I'd been hanging out at Selina's. I don't know why I didn't want to reveal that I'd taken flowers to Spider, but I felt some kind of insecurity about what I'd done, as if it was lame, embarrassing even.

  Dad had been watching Daniela and Ryder all afternoon, so I jumped in the pool with them before dinner. Cassian arrived to pick them up just as we were eating our dessert, and by dessert I mean fresh cut mango. Mom was still on her sugar-free, chocolate-free, dairy-free diet.

  Paola was working late at the restaurant, so Cassian helped himself to our leftovers and started asking what the kids had been doing. Daniela talked about going shopping with Gramps and helping him sweep the path. Ryder told him how he jumped on the trampoline. The kids disappeared into the living room and I was about to join them when Cassian said, "I heard you visited Spider again." Mom and Dad both looked up.

  "Did you?" Mom said.

  "I just stopped by after my hair appointment," I said, finding an urgent need to stack the used dishes on the table. "I had to wait for Selina to get home and I didn't want to drive all the way home and back." I had no idea why I was making up stories.

  "You really made his day," Cassian said kindly, "he loved the flowers."

  "You took him flowers?" Mom asked, in an overly baffled tone that made my cheeks turn red.

  ”His room was bare!" I shouted defensively. "It's so sterile and you have to wear gloves and masks. It needed some color!" Mom, Dad and Cassian all exchanged glances as if I'd just lost the plot. "He has to lie there all day," I continued, "in pain. It was just a bunch of flowers!"

  "Okay, okay," Mom placated, "no one's judging you. You just surprised us." Mom had a way of speaking calmly which made my outburst seem like a tantrum. "Doesn't he have family to visit?"

  I was about to tell them about his grandfather, but Cassian spoke first. "His father's up in the state prison."

  "What for?" Dad asked, before I could process this information.

  "Double murder," Cassian said. "Gang related."

  Mom's eyebrows raised, but I was stunned and any thoughts of defending Spider quickly vanished. Illogically, I felt betrayed by Spider, that he hadn't told me this himself, that he hadn't thought to mention it. And even though I'd only met him twice, his withholding of this information seemed paramount; that he thought so little of me to tell me a basic truth, that he didn't trust me.

  "Just be careful then, baby," Mom said gently. "It's good that you're visiting, but don't get too involved."

  "Gangs are a brutal business," Dad said, and I thought of Spider's tattoo. And the name Spider. He was probably in some gang. Some Spider Web Gang. Sons of Arachnids or something. They probably dealt in drugs and money laundering and human trafficking. He probably deserved to be burnt in the accident.

  "I only have to go once a week," I said in a tiny voice.

  "Once a week is fine," Mom said.

  "Just be vigilant," Dad said.

  "I don't think he's involved with the gang thing," Cassian said. "They let his father visit in the first week, when they didn't think he'd make it." Cassian turned to me, "He's a boy who's got a long battle ahead." He squeezed my hand. "Your visits will help him get through this."

  I nodded, but everything had changed. Spider was no longer the boy with the sad blue eyes who was in a world of pain. He was now a gang member, the son of a double murderer, and that thing...that thing where he'd touched my arm, that was nothing.

  It had to be nothing.

  A feeling of deception seeped through me. Like every thing I'd done had been him mocking me, a sweet schoolgirl reading children's books and bringing flowers to a gang member. He must have laughed at my naivety, a boy who probably lived in a world of drugs and guns and violence, and me, from a suburban neighborhood, full of Audis and Range Rovers, who barely knew how to talk to boys and had only ever been kissed by one boy (though luckily he didn't know that). I wished I'd never told him I would visit on Friday after my therapy.

  I wondered why Cassian would get me involved with such a person. Still, one hour a week was a small price if it helped me get my volunteer status checked off and improved my college options. Or that's what I convinced myself.

  Selina suggested I join her at the beach the next day, so I agreed, thinking it was going to be the two of us, but her cousin and friend joined us. They swam, but I could only paddle in the waves and sunbathe. I tried to engage in the talk about the latest music, so-and-so's Instagram post/YouTube video/Netflix marathon, but I found myself unable to care about such trivial things and couldn't muster up any enthusiasm. My thoughts seemed to constantly drift off to Spider.

  Back at Selina's house I tried to snap myself out of it, gushing over makeup tutorials on contouring cheeks, but all I could think was that Spider would never see my whole face — it would always be covered by a surgical mask.

  On Friday my physical therapy appointment took way less time than expected. The therapist made me do some strengthening exercises and a bit of balancing. It wouldn't have taken me any effort to go up to the burns unit, but I was still feeling betrayed.

  On the weekend Paola asked if I could work an extra shift, and I readily agreed.

  "Are you all right?" Dad asked, when he picked me up after work.

  "Yes," I said.

  "You're a little...quiet," Dad said, "something going on?"

  "My knee hurts," I said, and it did, but no more than usual.

  "And that's it?"

  "And I'm tired," I said, though that wasn't it at all.

  The feeling of guilt was crushing me, that I'd abandoned Spider, judged him by his father's actions.

  And an unjustified anger at him, for being the son of a gang member, the son of a murderer.

  And for making me feel something, when I never should have.

  SPIDER

  Things I remember:

  Car sliding

  Braking hard

  Hot. So hot

  Pain. So much pain

  And having no one

  CHAPTER 5

  I waited until the afternoon to visit, taking a few books and having a rehearsed list of excuses of why it had been five days since he'd seen me. I'd make it known that my regular day would be a Tuesday, after my therapy session.

  Jill wasn't at the nurse's station. Angie, a little Filipino nurse, greeted me. She seemed overjoyed when I said I'd come to see Spider.

  "He's had a very bad weekend," she said, and I frowned. "Not wanting to have his bandages changed, fighting us. Didn't want to see the phy
sical therapist. Or the OT. Or the Social Worker."

  My heart plunged. "Where's Jill?"

  "She worked all weekend with him," Angie said, "so she's off today."

  "Can I see him?" I asked, my heart beating double time.

  "Sure. You can sit with him, but he had to be sedated, so I don't think he'll wake up."

  I followed Angie in and like she said, Spider was sleeping. He didn't have his beanie on and for the first time I saw he had short brown hair, like it was growing out of a crew cut. He had bits of stubble across his cheeks and chin, like he hadn't shaved for days. I remembered how Jill said he was fussy with his personal care.

  Angie came in with a soda and cookie for me. She started chatting, at first about how wonderful Dr Cash was. It made me smile to know my brother was so respected.

  "Spider has been doing so well lately," Angie said. "He's finally putting on a little more weight. But it can be common for burns patients to feel depressed, especially when they realize the enormity of the journey ahead. Sometimes it overwhelms them, they just want to give up.”

  "Do you think he wants to give up?" I whispered, transfixed by Spider's sleeping body.

  "I think it's hard for him to do it on his own," Angie said. "It's hard to hold on to hope when there's no one around."

  For two days I'd given Spider hope, I knew that. I knew I'd brightened his day, even if it had just been a story, flowers and a hand to hold. And in those two days he'd made me discover things about myself. Things both good and bad.

  "His grandfather isn't able to travel down," Angie said, "and you know his father is in prison?" I nodded.

  "What about his mother?"

  "I believe his mother died when he was young," Angie said, and she patted my shoulder and stood up. "I'll leave you to sit for awhile. Maybe play some music for him." She winked. "He might wake up in a better mood!"

  "He'd probably complain about my taste in music," I said.

  "Blast some Justin Bieber!" Angie joked. "He deserves it for the way he made Jill work overtime."

  I spent the next half hour creating a playlist on the tablet. It was a mix of my favorite singers, some Top 40, some old hits, some rock. It didn't look like Spider would wake up, so I asked Angie for pen and paper and wrote him a note:

  Hi, Benji Bear DOES play football, but you missed the story because you were sleeping! I will come in after my appointment tomorrow, so hope you'll be awake :) Dominique

  I WAS USUALLY GOOD at controlling my nerves — being a gymnast means you are used to being the center of attention as you perform a routine under the beady eyes of judges and an audience. I knew how to focus and breathe and settle myself.

  But riding in the elevator up to the burns unit, I couldn't calm myself. My heart was thumping, my palms sweating and my mind racing. How would Spider be today? Would he be pleased to see me? Would he know I'd purposely avoided coming to see him?

  Jill was back on duty and on seeing me, she threw her arms around me.

  "It's so good to see you, sweetheart," she said, and we chatted about my knee and how my therapy was going. I answered politely, but I was impatient to see Spider. "He had a skin graft this morning," she said, "that's why we've turned him upside down." From the window I could see Spider lying on his belly, his arms outstretched above him, his head turned to the side. "They took the skin from the back of his good thigh and put it on his left one. He had an anesthetic so he's still a little bit dozy."

  "Oh," I said, with a deflated sigh. The thought of not talking to him seemed unbearable.

  Jill patted my back. "But you can still go in honey. Just don't expect too much from him.” She handed me a hat. I tossed my long braid over my shoulder, tucked my hair behind my ears and slipped it on.

  Jill made some checks and Spider stirred as she checked an IV line in his arm.

  "You have a visitor," Jill whispered, and I stepped across into his line of vision, crouching down carefully, mouthing a Hi and waving my hand in front of his eyes.

  He smiled but his eyes looked glazed, as if he wasn't sure of his surroundings.

  "It's just me," I said softly, and with effort he raised his right hand, but only getting it to a forty five degree angle. I reached out and gave him our hand salute, but he didn't let go. He closed his eyes again and my knee started to strain from being in the squat position, but I didn't want to move my hand away.

  Jill brought a chair to me and I gratefully sat down, Spider's fingers still holding firm. She winked and said, "I'll be out here if he needs anything."

  The sound of the door clicked as she left and Spider said in a husky tone, "Has she gone?"

  "Yes," I said, with a giggle. "Are you just pretending to be asleep?" Funny how being in the same room with him seemed to immediately change my personality. I became silly, playful, nervous. But nervous in a different way than when I had been with Taylor.

  "She'd ask me a hundred and one questions," Spider said.

  I giggled again. "Are you okay?"

  He let out a sigh and opened his eyes, a tiny spark igniting in them. "Don't tell me you're going to ask a bunch of questions." He released his hand from mine and reached across to the pillow, pulling out a piece of paper from under it. He held it up; it was the note I'd written yesterday. For some reason my heart fluttered.

  “Oh, you want Benji Bear Plays Football?" I asked.

  He nodded, and surprisingly placed the paper back under the pillow. I reached into my bag.

  "Benji is actually a very sporty bear. He also swims, plays tennis, soccer and cross country." He smiled. That made me smile. "Do you want me to get another pillow? You might see the pictures better." It seemed that he would get a strained neck at that angle and there was an extra pillow at the end of his bed.

  He lifted his head a fraction and I attempted to slide the pillow under the one he was lying against, but it got stuck and I had to readjust the one his head was on. I had to lean all the way over him to pull the pillow out on the far side, and all the time I was muttering apologies as I knocked his beanie over his eyes.

  He laughed as I tried to reposition it and I could feel my cheeks burning as I sat back down, annoyed at my clumsiness. I held up the book and said, "Benji Bear plays football."

  "You smell nice," he said.

  I was wearing one of Mom's Dolce and Gabanna perfumes. I'd always sneak up to her room to spray myself. This one was my favorite, a very deliberate choice. I liked that it had the same effect on Spider, but I suddenly felt shy and said, "You looked different yesterday, without your beanie on."

  He looked a little surprised. "Wasn't I wearing it?"

  "No."

  "My hair's still so short."

  "Did it get burnt?"

  "No, but they shaved it off because it smelt burnt. Apparently."

  "Oh, of course you wouldn't remember."

  "I had long hair," he said.

  "Long? How long?"

  "To my shoulders." I couldn't imagine it.

  “Well, it looks nice short," I said.

  "It doesn't look like me," he said, "my hair's always been long.”

  I pictured a gang of motorcyclists with long hair and tattoos and leather jackets, and my heart sunk a little bit, and I wondered what I was doing here. He couldn't change who he was, I couldn't change who he was.

  "I need it to cover my face," he said, his voice raspy from all the talking. "My tattoo.”

  I felt embarrassment wash over me, like he'd been reading my mind.

  "Why do you have a tattoo?" My voice was small, but it was like he expected me to ask.

  "My dad did it. When I was eight."

  I tried not to act stunned but my eyes widened. Eight? Eight! Eight was the age of Paola's son from her first marriage. Ashton was a kid who liked dinosaurs and bugs and Pokemon. He would never be asking for a tattoo.

  "Was he a tattoo artist?" I asked stupidly, as if that was an important question.

  "I guess."

  “Did you want the tattoo?" I o
bviously wasn't thinking with any clarity because what eight year old kid would demand a tattoo? And worse, what parent would give their kid a tattoo? On the face?

  Spider shook his head, and it made me aware that this boy had grown up in a home life that I could never ever imagine.

  Spontaneously I clutched at his hand again. "What's your real name?"

  He looked at me blankly, like he had no recall and I thought he was going to say that Spider was his real name. That he was Spider Keneally. But he squeezed my hand gently and whispered, "Malachi."

  "Mal-a-key?" I repeated, "Mal-a-key." His expression was still blank, like the name meant nothing to him. "I like it. It suits you. I'm going to call you Malachi because I hate spiders. I'm scared of them."

  "Nobody calls me Malachi," he said, his eyes steeped in sadness.

  “Well, I'm going to," I declared boldly. "So Malachi, are you ready for Benji Bear?"

  Malachi tried to stay awake, but he drifted off before Benji scored the winning touchdown and his team won the trophy. I wrote him another note: Malakey, finish the book yourself and you'll be quizzed on it tomorrow, Dominique :)

  I slipped it in the book and put it under his pillow and I crept out of the room. I would have liked to sit there longer, but Paola had phoned me earlier to fill in at the restaurant that night.

  She had come to get me and it was Mom who picked me up later that evening. Mom and Dad didn't like me driving alone at night, so one of them was always on hand to get me, less often Damon.

  Mom had been working some long hours, so much that some nights I'd already gone to bed before she arrived home. Her job was as a financial advisor in the mayor's office, so she had a fairly long commute downtown daily.

  We caught up on each other's day. I told her about my progress with my knee and that I'd been to see Malachi.

  "Who's that?" she asked.

  "Malachi is Spider's real name, the burns boy."

  "You went again?"

  "It's only a few floors out of my way," I said. ”And anyway, he'd had a skin graft so I didn't stay long. He didn't even stay awake for the whole story."